ed, he is one of rare
accomplishments. "He can write a capital letter, enough to make any of
the 'quality people' cry. The begging-letter people give him a shilling
for a letter. He is now on the tramp." The man was a lawyer, and so
astute that he can so adjust himself and his shadow, that he will hide
in it from your scrutiny any habitual expression of his villany. And
Cope has been most happy in this idea.

"Morning Prayer" is introduced with a few elegant lines, we presume by
Mr Cope himself. They have no name to them. The figure is graceful, the
effect tender; but we confess we have been so satiated with such
subjects in the Annuals, that we do not relish this as perhaps we ought.
From the same cause, we do not dwell upon "The Mother." "The Wanderer--
the beggar and his dog," is good. The impostor beggar was in sunshine,
and which he turned to his purpose: he could cope with the world's broad
glare. This is no impostor; and the atmosphere he breathes is suited to
his fortunes. The rejecting hand, with its shadow of the dry skinny
fingers, is well conceived.

"The Readers," from Boccaccio, is not happy. The figures are not
Italian; nor is the costume of the age of the book. His "Girl and Cupid"
is a little gem, reminding us of Schidoni. We presume these lines are by
the etcher--

"Love, in the virgin breast of beauty lying,
Laughs at the fate for her he doth prepare--
Will swiftly turn her sweetest smiles to sighing,
And flee when she is fixed in despair."

We have seen so many ladies with up-turned eyes, called in the annual
catalogues "Meditation," that we will not interrupt the calm of Mr
Cope's. C.G. Lewis has but one plate, "A Woodland Dell." A quiet spot of
shade and flickering sunshine--a streamlet, and a rural bridge. It is
sweetly etched, true to the character.

Richard Redgrave, in more than one instance in the book, shows that he
has power over the deep and solemn pathetic, as well as over the tender.
His first plate is "The Survivors of the Storm." The story is from
Petronius, as told by Jeremy Taylor. A floating body of one of a
shipwrecked crew lies pillowed on a wave, and is met with by the
survivors in their boat. Solemn and awe-stricken is their expression.
The plate is of a fine tone, befitting death in that awful shape. This
story of Petronius was the subject of a poetical piece, which we
remember to have read in a volume of poems by Thomas Flatman, one of the
"mob of gen